


In Which Sherlock Holmes is Gay on a Train

by sublime_sunlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Murder Mystery, Trains, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublime_sunlight/pseuds/sublime_sunlight
Summary: Sherlock and Jean are called on a case for a wealthy political donor, who suspects she's being threatened by a member of her inner circle. The catch - there are 6 suspects, all with their own motive and trapped in a single train car for the day. Featuring; lesbian hijinks, pining, and the author loving Clue too much to control themselves.





	In Which Sherlock Holmes is Gay on a Train

The day was clear, and I was unbelievably anxious. I had grown quite used to Sherlock’s more eccentric behaviors (blowing holes in the wall of our shared flat, keeping odd bits of corpses in our fridge, all the normal things) but this was the most out of character thing I’d ever beheld.  
She had made breakfast.  
I don’t just mean frying an egg or slapping some jam on toast, it was a proper breakfast. There was fresh fruit, biscuits, potatoes, all spread on the kitchen table which was miraculously clear of beakers and dodgy fluid.  
I stopped in the doorway, gaping and wondering which alien race had come in the night and swapped my flat mate’s brain for some semi-functional person. Not to say I don’t view Sherlock as the one of the brightest people of our time, but if it came down to forcing her to make something more complicated than an omelet and me being executed by firing squad, I’d say shoot me.  
While I was gaping at the breakfast, I hardly noticed Sherlock breezing past smelling like slightly burnt pancake batter and cloves (the cloves are normal, and no it isn’t weird that I know what my flat mate smells like). She pushed a teacup into my hands and muttered an inaudible greeting. The edge of her robe touched my leg.  
I stood flustered, a moment longer than I probably should have, then dug in. Everything was divine, which made me much more suspicious that I was somehow being used as a guinea pig for some new poison (she’s brilliant, not functional).  
Just as I was tucking into another cherry scone, Sherlock stepped in while adjusting the collar of a peach colored suit that nearly made me bowl over with how sharp she looked.  
“There’s been a threat made against a woman of extreme wealth from an apparent close acquaintance. She’s requested our help in finding out who within her inner circle means her harm,” she looked me over, and I felt my face flush. “We’ve got an appointment with her and her friends in an hour. It’s our job to act like some old college friends. Wear something…fancy.”  
“And pray tell,” I choked down the last of my scone, “where is this covert meeting?”  
Sherlock gave me a smirk and handed me a thin slip of paper. I took it and squinted at the fine lettering.  
“A train, Sherlock? Hardly a private place for a meeting.”  
She let out a huff and pointed at the name. “It’s a first-class ticket, on one of the finest trains in England. The thought process is they’ll all be in fairly confined quarters and we can sniff out the guilty party easier. They’re all taking a ‘girls’ trip’ to Scotland.” She put that last phrase in sarcastic air quotes.  
“Alright then,” I stood up and brushed some crumbs off my shirt. I looked up and smiled at her.  
The sharp lines of her eyebrows softened a bit. “Did you,” she coughed lightly into her coat sleeve. “How was breakfast?”  
“Oh, yes. Of course.” I looked away. And when I looked back, she’d disappeared.  
I noticed I still hadn’t drunk my tea, and I took a sip. It had a splash of cream and three sugars. Just how I like it.


End file.
